


Brothers

by dayinthelife



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:19:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayinthelife/pseuds/dayinthelife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the got-exchange, round 5. Prompt: Jaime + Tyrion: A pre-GoT story with those two…A fight or incident they went through together, or anything that highlights their brotherly affection.</p><p>“If you can manage to hide from me somewhere, anywhere within the castle, until sunset, I’ll give you my lemoncakes tonight at supper.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers

The morning is cold and gloomy, the scent of damp earth in the air warning of storms rolling in off the sea. But something as trivial as bad weather will not deter Tywin Lannister from his departure, so Tyrion finds himself shivering beside his brother as they bid farewell to their father and sister. Jaime is the picture of a high lord’s eldest son: all tall, lanky limbs and bright-eyed confidence that only youth can possess, only ten and four, yet already one of the best swordsmen in the Westerlands. Tyrion feels out of place next to his gallant brother, clutching at Jaime’s cloak and looking more like a drowned rat than a proud lion, his platinum blond hair sticking uncomfortably to his scalp as a lazy drizzle continues to fall from the sky. The five year old stares down at his boots, preferring to study the worn leather rather than risk meeting his older sister’s cruel gaze peering out from the litter. Cersei had locked him in his bedchamber the morning before and left him crying for an hour before Jaime came to his rescue, and he has not forgotten the incident despite Jaime’s reassurances that it will never happen again (it _always_ happens again). 

When at last the horses have disappeared beyond the rolling hills of the Westerlands, Tyrion allows himself a breath of relief and feels a thread of excitement begin tugging at his chest. With Father and Cersei away at court for a fortnight, he will have Jaime all to himself, a luxury he has not been afforded in what feels like ages (his twin siblings have been spending entirely too much time together, to his great annoyance). And so he pulls his laughing brother down the muddy path back toward the castle, eager to recount to him the latest tales he has read in the great book of dragons Uncle Gerion had gifted him on his nameday.

~

“Read the story about Meraxes and the Battle of the Last Storm!” Tyrion begs for the third time, thrusting the heavy leather bound text into Jaime’s hands as they make their way into the main solar. The rain has begun to fall more heavily and the occasional crackle of lightning accompanies it, illuminating the room and casting sudden, eerie shadows along the walls. Shadows that Tyrion can almost convince himself are dragons, lurking silently just beyond sight, ready to leap out with a burst of flame at any moment. The thought sends a pleasant shiver down his spine and he begs once more for his brother to read to him the tale of Queen Rhaenys and her fiery companion. Jaime smiles and rolls his eyes; he has never shared his brother’s reverence of words, nor will he pretend to understand his love, but nevertheless he takes the book and settles himself into a plush crimson seat. Tyrion’s eyes light up and he flops himself down at Jaime’s feet with only a bit of difficulty as the sky darkens outside the window.

“…With the aid of his sis, sister-wife Rhaenys, Aegon was une…unequal…unequ-“ Jaime’s brow furrows as he contends with the word, and an unnamable discomfort blooms in Tyrion’s chest as he watches his brother struggle.

“Unequivocally,” he finishes for Jaime, knowing the story of the Last Storm by heart.

“Right. Aegon was une…unequivocally the winner of the battle, with King Argilac dead at the feet of his own horse.” He closes the book unceremoniously and hands it back to Tyrion. Tyrion’s disappointment must show on his face because Jaime sighs and ruffles his brother’s hair.

“I don’t much like reading. Let’s play a game instead,” he coaxes, opening the heavy oak door leading from the solar into the corridor. “If you can manage to hide from me somewhere, anywhere within the castle, until sunset, I’ll give you my lemoncakes tonight at supper.”

Tyrion considers for a moment, but ultimately his love of lemoncakes outweighs his fear of the dark and he puts on the bravest face he can muster and nods. 

“Right. I’ll wait here until you find yourself a proper place to hide. Hurry or I’ll eat your lemoncakes as well as my own!” Jaime warns as he leans lazily in the doorway, and Tyrion is off as fast as he can, waddling through the corridor and down the stone steps with a grin on his face.

~

Tyrion follows the twists and turns of his ancestral home’s architecture for what seems like ages, feeling a thrill whenever he tromps down another staircase and descends further into the heart of Casterly Rock. Soon there are no more windows looking out toward the sea, and the tapestries decorating the stone walls are entirely unfamiliar to him. He slows his pace to admire them properly, gruesome battles and hard won victories, beautiful maidens and gallant knights. Tyrion runs his fingers over a depiction of a woman with golden hair and kind green eyes. She seems familiar somehow…

Suddenly, something growls low and loud somewhere further down the corridor. Tyrion jumps, his heart racing, before reminding himself that the last dragons died with the Targaryens of old, and even if they _were_ alive they wouldn’t be dwelling beneath Casterly Rock. The growling continues for a few terribly long moments before ebbing away into silence, and Tyrion steels himself to continue on, trying to convince himself that the noise is just the sea beating against the Rock. He might not be as tall as Jaime, nor as strong, but stature has no bearing on bravery, and he holds that fact close to his heart as he slowly makes his way toward the next room.

When his eyes adjust to the light he is taken aback by what he sees. He finds himself in an impossibly large chamber, weakly lit by a few low burning torches with an arched ceiling so high it seems to melt into the rock from which it was carved. There are hulking figures lining the walls, beasts of stone shrouded in shadow. Tyrion worries at his thumb with his teeth (a habit his father abhors) and approaches one cautiously, his footsteps sounding painfully loud in the silence. 

It is a lion, taller than him by more than half and frozen in a silent roar atop a slab of marble. A golden sword with a red pummel lies at its feet, a relic from the past that Tyrion reaches for with interest. The blade is, of course, made for a fully-grown man and not a half child, but he lifts it all the same, marveling at the designs along the fuller. In a moment of foolishness, he pictures himself tall and strong like Jaime, and tries to wield the sword one handed. But the weapon is too heavy and slips from his grasp, falling to the ground with a deafening clatter. Tyrion winces and picks it up gingerly, returning it to its rightful place beside the lion. As he gives the blade a pat for good measure, he notices an inscription in the marble, just two words: Damon Lannister. Tyrion stares at the name for a moment before he realizes what he’s standing in front of. Dread floods his body as he backs away from the tomb, but everywhere he turns the lions of Lannister surround him, some snarling, some sleeping, some leering at him through the gloom. Tyrion feels tears welling up in his eyes as he tries to run from the room, but before long his legs begin to ache and he collapses in a heap in front of another lion and begins to cry, ashamed of himself for acting like such a coward in front of his ancestors. 

After he calms down a bit, Tyrion looks up at the statue he has flung himself beneath. It is a lioness, her paws folded on top of one another peacefully as she stares into the distance. He sniffles and pulls himself up to read the inscription on this tomb, but before he can make out the words, he hears someone running in his direction. Fear once again bubbles up in his stomach, but he wills himself to be brave.

“Hello?” he calls out, his voice sounding small and scared.

“Tyrion!” someone responds, and in a moment Jaime is by his side, panting and pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Where have you been?! Why did you come down here?” He pulls his younger brother into a tight embrace and Tyrion doesn’t think he’s ever felt so relieved.

“I don’t know…I just kept wandering…where are we?”

“The Hall of Heroes, dear brother…Although I suppose you’ve never had much reason to venture this deep into the Rock,” Jaime replies, focusing his attention on the stone lioness, his expression suddenly solemn as he approaches her with a bowed head and places his hand on her paw.

“Mother…”

Tyrion swallows guiltily and bites his lip, suddenly wishing he were alone again. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles awkwardly. It’s his fault, he knows. His fault that Jaime’s mother (she had never felt like _his_ , he didn’t remember her and he had no right to claim her as his own) had died, as Cersei was always happy to remind him in her angrier outbursts. 

But instead of a tearful glare Jaime smiles at him sadly, picking Tyrion up with ease and holding him close. “No. Nevermind what Cersei says, it isn’t your fault. Mother loved you, Tyrion. She died so that you could live.”

Tears come again as Tyrion wraps his arms around Jaime’s neck, and his brother gives him a reassuring squeeze. 

“Never think that it is your fault. You are a Lannister, and you should be proud.”

“But I’m so small…I can’t even hold a sword. Father thinks me an embarrassment,” Tyrion says, the shame of speaking of he words aloud, to his brother no less, bringing a blush to his cheeks. Jaime sets him back down, dropping into a squat to look him directly in the eyes.

“You aren’t an embarrassment. Not to me. Never to me. You’ve not even seen an autumn but you’re the smartest person I know, and your japes always make the servants laugh.” Tyrion gives a watery smile in spite of himself and Jaime returns it, ruffling Tyrion’s hair before standing again. “Come, dear brother, they’ve prepared us nothing less than a small feast, and I believe I owe you a few lemoncakes.”


End file.
